Sunday, September 10, 2017

As
a white, straight, Christian male, I have never experienced persecution,
discrimination or exclusion because of my race, sexuality, beliefs or gender.

I
don’t know what it is like to feel overlooked or underpaid, or worry about
sexual harassment, like many women do.

I
don’t worry about how I might be viewed or treated for what I wear or believe, or
be lumped in with those who commit acts of terrorism because they claim to be
part of the same faith.

I
don’t fear violence or discrimination because of who I choose to love and
marry, like my LGBTQ friends.

And
I don’t have to worry about whether or not my religion is acceptable. Canadian society
is set up to accommodate my beliefs, even giving me Christmas and Good Friday off.

You
could say that I am a lucky man, born into the right place, person and privileges.

So
when something like Charlottesville happens, and the copy-cat anti-immigration
rallies here in Canada, they alarm and concern me. But they don’t affect me
personally.

I
am not the target of their discrimination and hate.

If
I want to know what it feels like to be fearful for my safety, or that of my
family, I need to ask those they are rallying or marching against.

And
so I reached out to a couple of Jewish friends.

While
Islamophobia is a constant and pressing concern, and should never be taken
lightly, the chants of marchers in Charlottesville—“Jews will not replace us”
and the Nazi-inspired “blood and soil”—still echo in my mind.

How
do my friends feel about the current situation? And do they feel safe in
Winnipeg? I asked Rabbi Alan Green of
Shaarey Zedek and Belle Jarniewski, President of the Manitoba Multifaith
Council.

“For
the last 20 years or so, Winnipeg has been a model of peaceful co-existence,” says
Green of how different faith and ethnic groups have got along.

“In
that context, I don't think there is anywhere on earth safer to be
Jewish than Winnipeg, and I think most Winnipeg Jews would agree with me.”

That
said, the anti-Semitic graffiti and alt-right marches “certainly are a
concern,” he says.

But,
he adds, “if enough people demonstrate visible opposition to what for now is a
fringe phenomenon, I believe the white supremacists can be stopped dead in
their tracks.”

Green
especially welcomes statements from non-Jewish groups that condemn
anti-Semitism—like the one issued by the Anglican Diocese of Rupert’s Land and
the Manitoba and Northwestern Synod of the Evangelical Lutheran Church
following the events in Charlottesville. But he wonders why more local faith
groups haven’t done the same.

“There
is a fearful part of me that interprets the silence of so many others as the
same indifference that made the acceptance of Nazism by millions of people
possible in the 1930s,” he says.

For
Jarniewski, what she’s seeing around her now is also “a repetition of history.”

In
the 1930s, she says, “Hitler was spouting that kind of thing. Nobody believed
him, or took it seriously, nobody thought he would follow through. Similarly,
with Trump when he was running for office, nobody thought he would really
believe follow through on all things saying. But he really is.”

She
has learned “that when someone says hateful things, we better believe it.
History has shown us it is true.”

She
notes that the local Jewish community is always on guard, especially for the
high holidays. That’s when her synagogue hires off-duty police officers are
hired to provide security.

As
for life as a Jew in Winnipeg, she personally isn’t frightened.

“But
there are worrisome signs, like anti-Semitic graffiti, and when an Eritrean
family is threatened by a neighbor,” she says.

“What
is good to know is that the majority of Winnipeggers oppose this kind of hate.”

Winnipeggers who are concerned about the rising
levels of hate and animosity towards Muslims, Jews and others were able to show
their support for an open, welcoming and caring community on September 9 at the
Winnipeg Diversity Rally Against Hate.

Everyone
was welcome at the rally, including white, straight, Christians like me.